Daddy's Little Hunter
by birdofflame587
Summary: John is called in rather urgently for a meeting at Dean's school by his concerned teacher...


**Genre:** Supernatural - Pre-Series - Alternate Universe - General - Humor

**Rating:** K+ (mild language in a couple of instances)

**Characters:** John, Dean (mentioned), Original Male, Original Female

**Summary:** John is rather urgently called in at Dean's school by his son's concerned teacher...

**Dedication:** To Dee Dee, who I miss very, Very, VERY much. -(^_^)- See, no mention of Sam anywhere. I hope you're happy and that you enjoy.

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**Daddy's Little Hunter**

**by Blackthorne**

_Gotta stock up on some more shotgun ammo,_ John thought to himself, mentally jotting down a to-do list as he leafed through a colorful children's magazine. _And that last werewolf hunt used up what was left of the silver..._

"Good morning. Mr. Winchester?"

At the sound of a genial, female voice, John looked up from the magazine and was greeted by an aging, kind-faced, woman who reminded him a little of his grandmother. That she was attired in a dress with a floral pattern, as his late grandmother was fond of, served to increase the similitude.

Uncharacteristically, he smiled without realizing it. This was for the good, because making a negative first impression on Dean's teacher would not be in anyone's best interest.

"Good mornin', ma'am," John said, returning the greeting in his deep voice. He tried to sound as friendly as he could, but didn't quite pull it off.

The woman took a seat behind the desk, shifting aside some papers and other odds and ends before introducing herself in a more proper manner. "I'm Mrs. Meyer," she said with a smile. "But you can call me Debbie."

"I'm John," John said, set a little at ease at the first name basis and the overall informal nature of the meeting so far.

"I'm sorry for being late, John," Debbie said, getting out a folder from her bag.

John shook his head dismissively. "It's alright. Only been waiting a couple minutes anyway. So...erm...why did you ask to see me?"

"Well," Debbie said, for the first time losing a little of her self-assuredness and looking around uncomfortably. "It's about your son, Dean. He's...well..."

John, not liking the sudden change in the woman, asked, "Is something wrong?"

"That's what we'd like to find out -" Debbie began, before being interrupted by John.

"Has he been misbehaving?" John asked. "Cuz I know he sometimes got into fights at his last school. But I talked to him about that and he promised me he'd cut it out -"

Debbie was quick to dismiss John's suspicion. "No, no, no. It's nothing like that," she said. "Before we go any further I'd like to introduce you to someone. If that's okay with you?"

John nodded his assent while following Debbie's gaze to the door.

"Dr. Pryor," Debbie called out. "You can come in now."

_Doctor? _John thought with some alarm. _I knew he was too young for knife work. They probably saw alla the cuts and think I've been abusing him or something..._

The door opened and a middle aged man in a suit walked in and sat next to Debbie. Stern faced and looking at John (in a manner the latter found to be most uncomfortable) he seemed the very anti-thesis of Mrs. Meyer.

"Good morning," the man said politely, if not a little stiffly. "I'm Dr. Pryor."

"I'm John."

"Well now," Debbie said, leaning forward. "This is the district school psychiatrist, John."

"Psychiatrist?" John asked, eyes widening for a moment before he mastered himself once more.

Dr. Pryor nodded and stated simply, "Yes."

The ever observant Dr. Pryor did not fail to notice John's reaction, though, and immediately scribbled something in his little notebook.

_Oh shit,_ John thought, more worried than ever now.

"Let's get this meeting started, shall we?" Dr. Pryor continued. "I have another appointment over at Blaine Elementary in about an hour."

"Yes, yes," Debbie said briskly. "Of course." She turned towards John. "Mr. Winchester, your son is a very well behaved child in most respects. But there are certain..._behaviors_ that he's exhibiting that have been a cause for some concern. Now, before we go into those in detail, I'd just like to ask - is everything okay at home?"

John swallowed before replying. "Yes. Everything's fine."

Dr. Pryor leafed through some papers in front of him. "I understand that you are a single parent, Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah," John replied, not liking the man's disapproving tone. "I do the best I can," John went on a little defensively. He, however, didn't believe his own words as he was absent half of the time.

"I'm sure you do," Dr. Pryor responded, though his expression looked anything **but** certain.

"Look," John said, getting a little impatient. "Would someone **please** stop beating around the bush and tell me what's going on with my son?"

"Very well," Debbie said with a nod. She rummaged around in the folder before her, and pulled out several sheets of colorful paper. Tossing a few of them aside, she handed the remainder to John for his perusal.

John examined the drawings on the sheets and his jaw dropped. They were colorful variants of the images and photographs in his journal, drawn in Dean's nine year old hand. As bad as that was, worse was to follow as the last of them depicted one of John's conquests (which Dean had witnessed from the safety of the Impala).

It was total chance that they'd run across a black dog while on the interstate (of all places). Standing over a shadowy, red eyed corpse was a man (who was little better than a stick figure really), dressed in what appeared to be a black leather jacket (_Oh my God that's me,_ John thought) with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other. Little red dots lead from the knife down the page where they terminated in a large red splotch.

"John?" Debbie asked. "What do you think of those?"

John realized that he was being silent for far too long, giving Dr. Pryor an excuse to leap to all sorts of stupid conclusions. "He's obviously been watching way too much TV," John said quickly. "And the things they show on TV today...man, I tell you back in my day..." he trailed off incoherently as his eyes were drawn once again to the picture.

"Mr. Winchester, we wouldn't have set up this meeting if we thought this was the result of an overactive imagination," Dr. Pryor said. "There is more."

Debbie nodded. "Much more, I'm afraid."

"Like what?" John asked, dreading the answer.

"Take our aquarium for instance," Debbie said, pointing to the glass container in the corner of the room. "See, we were having some problems with the fishes dying -"

"Don't tell me he killed the fishes," John said, shaking his head in frustration.

"No," Debbie replied. "He didn't. As it turned out some of the other boys poured soda into the tank. They confessed to the deed eventually and were suitably punished. But...erm...back to Dean. Back when the fishes were still mysteriously dying, I caught Dean alone at the tank. I admit I thought he was responsible for the dead fishes, and so I snuck up behind him to see what he was doing."

John swallowed again before asking, "And what **was** he doing?"

Debbie reached into her ever present bag and pulled something out. "He was mumbling something or other and dropped **this** into the tank." She passed the article in her hand to John. His mouth formed a perfect 'o' upon realizing it was a rosary. "When I asked him what he was doing," Debbie continued, "he said he was blessing the water so the fishes wouldn't die anymore."

John was speechless. _I gotta watch where the hell it is I leave that journal._

Dr. Pryor spoke up, snapping John out of his thoughts. "Mr. Winchester, are you particularly religious?"

Despite the circumstances, John almost laughed. He caught himself in time though. "No, I ain't."

"Then why would Dean have done what he did?" Debbie asked.

"Is that such a bad thing?" John asked dismissively. "At least he was blessing the water and not throwing soda into it like them other boys. Or peeing in it or something."

"Well," Dr. Pryor said. "There have been numerous documented instances of obsessively religious parents warping the minds of their offspring, leading the children to eventually exhibit behaviors that progressively grow from odd to downright deviant and anti-social."

"Christ! I ain't no Bible thumper," John said emphatically. He added quickly, "See, I just took the Lord's name in vain."

"Then to what can we chalk up Dean's actions?" Debbie asked.

"He always **did** like _The Exorcist_," John said in reply to that. It was the first thing that came to his mind. In retrospect it wasn't the smartest thing to say.

Dr. Pryor raised his eyebrows. "Are you aware that _The Exorcist's_ parental guidance ratings exceed Dean's age range? You let your nine year old son watch that?"

"Isn't that a little irresponsible?" Debbie cut in with dissatisfaction.

"Yes, ma'am," John said softly, not knowing what else to say. He gritted his teeth as Dr. Pryor scribbled something else down in his notebook. John was starting to find that habit of his to be quite annoying. "Look," John continued, "I don't see what the big deal is about some pictures and holy water. So...Dean likes watching scary movies. I think he's mature for his age. He's never had a nightmare from watching 'em even once. So I let him."

"Different children," Dr. Pryor replied, "react differently. And I think Dean is reacting. Those movies will have to go."

"Fine," John said. "Now, if that's all, I really need to get back to work and-"

"Actually," Debbie interjected, "we're **not** done yet. And I do think you can spare us a little more time. We've been sending notes in with Dean for a couple of **weeks** now, and you've only **just** turned up. Don't we AND your son deserve some more of your time?"

"I was meaning to come in," John said, choosing his words carefully. "But things were just so..._crazy_ at work. I...suppose I can spare some more time."

"Good," Debbie said. "This brings us to the issue of the girls' bathroom."

"The-the what?" John asked with a stutter.

"It's there that things first took a truly disturbing turn," Debbie said with a bewildered little shake of her graying head. "A little background information is in order."

"Indeed," Dr. Pryor said, scribbling furiously and not looking up from his notebook.

"There's a little school myth that's been going around for some time now," Debbie said, "centered around the very last stall in the girls' bathroom. Something or other about a girl who went in and never came out. They say she got _flushed_ down the toilet and even today her ghost haunts that particular stall." Debbie rolled her eyes. "Kids. If only they'd show half as much creativity in their compositions."

John's interest was piqued. If he had a dollar for every such myth he'd ever heard that turned out to be true then he would be able to pay this month's rent with some change to spare. "Er, just how long ago did this happen to the girl?" he asked. "In the story I mean. How old was she? Did she have a name?"

Both Debbie and Dr. Pryor gave him a pointed look.

"Does it matter?" Dr. Pryor asked incredulously.

Debbie's expression grew stern. The woman misinterpreted John's zeal to learn more as an attempt at sarcasm. "I don't appreciate your making light of a serious incident, Mr. Winchester."

"I'm not," John said quickly in his defense. "I...er...just wanted to find out as much as I could in case it had something to do with...whatever it is you're gonna tell me about Dean."

"Well, maybe," Debbie conceded. "It was after school. Our janitor was the one who actually caught him. He found your son in the last stall with these."

Two more items were withdrawn from her bag. One was a black, permanent marker. The other was a little canister of Vicks VapoRub.

"Dean had defaced the wall of the stall with some very..._frightening_ symbols," Debbie said. "I'm no expert, but they seemed quite **occult** in nature."

"Oh my God," John moaned, wanting to crawl into a hole and die.

"No doubt," Dr. Pryor was quick to say, "the result of those movies he has been exposed to."

"As to the jar," Debbie said, opening it to reveal a white crystalline substance. "Turns out it was filled with _salt_. What he intended to do with that, at the time, I could not imagine."

"Mrs. Meyer, Dr. Pryor," John said apologetically to the teacher and psychiatrist, "I will have a serious talk with Dean. And, yeah, I'll be throwing out those movies as soon as I get home."

Dr. Pryor and Debbie shared a grave look.

"Yes," Debbie said. "That much is in order. But I need to tell you - there's more."

_Shit...shit...shit..._

"Excuse me?" Debbie asked. "Did you say something?"

"Er...no," John said, reddening when he realized he had been muttering out loud. "Just clearing my throat."

"Oh," she said, before continuing. "As I said, at the time I didn't have a clue why he would take salt into the girls' bathroom. That was to change two days later."

"Eh?" was all John could manage to get out.

"I came into the classroom to find that the window sills to the front, and across the threshold of the doorway had been laid with what turned out to be salt," Debbie said. "All the children were at the back of the classroom, repeating the process to the back door and the windows there. Obviously, I knew who was behind it. And when I asked him why he would lead the others to do such a thing, he told me it was to keep away the demons."

It can't possibly get any worse than this, John thought with a groan.

Dr. Pryor was quick to follow up from Debbie. "Your son is becoming quite the disruptive influence, Mr. Winchester. I hope that you're starting to appreciate just how serious this is."

"Oh yes," John said with emphasis. "Definitely."

"There's a few more things," Debbie said absently. "For instance, he threw away some flowers that Dee Dee had picked for me. Actually, he grabbed them from my desk, stomped on them and threw them in the bin. He said they were _bad_ and called her a witch. The poor girl cried for close to an hour."

_Quite the crybaby,_ John thought to himself. "What **kind** of flowers were they exactly?" John asked, not able to resist.

"You know," Debbie trailed off. "I'm not rightly sure. They were sort of yellow with little orange spots on the undersides of the petals and -"

Dr. Pryor grew even sterner as he cut off the distracted teacher (who obviously placed too much stock in flowers, as her dress could testify to). "And again, Mr. Winchester, I ask - what does it matter?"

"Well, I'd like to have Dean pick some just like them himself, to both replace the ones he trashed, as well as for poor Dee Dee when he apologizes to her," John said thinking quickly. "As part of his punishment, which any **responsible** parent should feel obliged to dispense."

"Oh," was all the good doctor had to say to that.

John noted, with satisfaction, that he seemed abashed. He allowed himself a small, discrete smile.

"After those minor incidents," Debbie said finally, "there was one final event that made us insist that he not return to school until you saw us first."

Dr. Pryor looked up from his notebook. "You mean...Nutmeg?"

"Yes," Debbie said with a little frown.

_Nutmeg,_ John wondered to himself. _I don't know no uses for nutmeg - aside from cooking._

Debbie continued. "Our class hamster, Nutmeg, died two days ago. A couple of children saw. Dean was one of them. Usually, whenever Nutmeg dies we just tell the children that he's sick and we need to take him to the vet, and then we get another hamster."

John gave her a look. "You **lie**, you mean."

"Children can be quite sensitive at this age," Dr. Pryor said. "It's a white lie meant to preserve their innocence. I myself don't quite agree with it, but the parents of the children often go to far lengths to avoid the topic of death. And we need to respect their wishes."

"Anyway," Debbie said. "To distract the class I told them they could have a little play time. I covered up Nutmeg and sent for the janitor to have Nutmeg _carried to the vet's_ - if you catch my drift."

"Yeah," John asked. "And?"

"Well," Debbie continued. "The janitor came to the door, rolled his eyes and said - "So Nutmeg died **again**, huh? That's the **third** time this year."

"That was quite insensitive of him," Dr. Pryor said with a shake of the head.

Debbie nodded. "Yes, it was. Anyway, Dean happened to be nearby and heard this. He did seem a little too **eager** to be near the body in the first place. It was a little weird actually."

"I think he might be developing a morbid fixation on death," Dr. Pryor said. "The consequences of those movies and such on his young mind must have been quite far reaching. This sort of thing is mostly seen with children who have lost someone in the family. When did your wife pass away, Mr. Winchester?"

"About five years ago," John said stiffly. "In a fire. I'd given Dean his brother to take outside and tried to save his mother. I couldn't."

Ordinarily John didn't like to talk about those events but he was hoping in this case Dr. Pryor might assume that they might have had some influence on Dean's behavior. Better that than the psychiatrist accusing him of being a bad parent and then having the state come down on him.

"Oh dear," Debbie said. "I'm so sorry."

Dr. Pryor's expression grew pensive. "Well, I think it's a little late for it to be affecting Dean like this. However, considering the nature of her passing, I would not rule it out completely."

"Anyway, what did he do that was so bad?" John asked, unable to stand the suspense any longer.

"He walked up to me and Mr. Flannery, the janitor, and told us he could make sure Nutmeg stayed dead and didn't come back," Debbie said in reply to John's question. "He said all we needed was some salt, kerosene and a lighter...and that we could do it in the backyard after school."

This time John could not contain the "shit" that escaped him.

"We are a tolerant lot, John, but even we have our limits," Debbie said. "Taking into consideration that your son may be a burgeoning arsonist-"

"Among other things," Dr. Pryor added.

"We insist that Dean be given a thorough psychiatric evaluation," Debbie continued. "As a matter of fact, it's the district school policy where such matters are concerned. I'm afraid Dean **cannot** return to the school system - either here or any other in the district - until he has been evaluated and received therapy if he needs it."

"Which I believe he just might," said Dr. Pryor. "Call it a hunch."

John took a few deep breaths and leaned back in his chair. Of all the things he expected to be called in for - fighting, bad grades, consistent failure to do homework - never had he expected any of this. He knew better than to disagree with the psychiatrist and teacher. He could read people and knew these were the sort who would - for the good of the child of course - bring in the heavy artillery of the state to bear upon him. And John couldn't have that.

"You're probably right," John said resignedly.

Dr. Pryor pulled out his personal digital assistant and punched in a few keys. "I can schedule an appointment for next week Monday morning at nine. Will that be okay?"

"Yeah," John replied. "I'll make the time."

"Good," Dr. Pryor said. "You're making the right decision, Mr. Winchester. Some day your son might even thank you for it." He smiled for the first time since the entire meeting began.

_Smiling you son of a bitch?_ John mentally grumbled. _Probably thinking of your fees and how much money you're gonna make._

"Here's my business card," the doctor continued, undaunted by the poorly concealed expression on John's face.

John took the card and got to his feet a tad bit shakily. "Is it okay if I..."

Debbie slowly nodded. "Yes, I think we're done for today, John. Tell Dean I said hello."

John nodded and hurried out of the classroom. Passing by a bin, he crumpled Dr. Pryor's card and tossed it inside.

_I need to buy us a few new duffel bags,_ John thought to himself, adding the final item onto his mental to-do list. As he drove out of the school car park he could distinctly sense that a change of residence was in the works.

**The End**

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**End Notes:** Well, what do you think? Comments, opinions and such greatly appreciated!


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